New York State of Mind
by Ninja Violinist
Summary: Three hunters are on the trail of a shapeshifter. Unbeknownst to them, the team at Manhattan’s Special Victim’s Unit are as well. Case!Fic
1. 1

* * *

**Background** : Evangeline Chung is a hunter, thrown into the life after a monster slaughtered her family. She met Sam Winchester in a chance encounter just before the Apocalypse and has been part of their lives ever since then.

Dean Winchester loves her, and she loves him, but it's the angel, Castiel, who truly holds her heart. Her relationship with the celestial being is cause for contention within the Men of Letters Bunker, but for the sake of their unconventional family a truce has been made.

Her story is told in another fic, _The Girl With the Black Dragon Tattoo_.

* * *

"What've we got?"

"Female, late twenties/early thirties. Local beat cop found her in the garbage, unconscious. Signs of prolonged torture."

"Just like the other three. Any signs of rape?"

"Haven't gotten that far, but there's bruising on her thighs. I'll know more after the autopsy."

"He's never killed before."

"First time for everything."

"Damn. We better find this one, quick. He's ramping up and so far he doesn't show any sign of stopping."

"And not a single reliable witness. Black man, white man, Hispanic man; over six feet, under 5'8"; black hair, red hair, blonde hair—"

"We got the point, Carisi. Better let Liv know what's up."

"Hold up. There's something on her hand. A stamp."

"I know that one. Belongs to a local club, Sapphire. About four blocks down."

"Hunting grounds?"

"Sounds like a good place to start."

* * *

Evangeline tilted over just far enough to use the Impala's sideview mirror to adjust her makeup. At five and a half feet, the young Asian woman made for a compact figure, deceptively fragile looking. Anyone who dared to lay a hand on her would undoubtedly be in for a shock; Evangeline Chung was a hunter, a killer of the supernatural, who had taken down much more intimidating prey than an egotistical grown man lacking control of their libido.

She smacked her now matte-red lips a few more times before straightening. When she turned around she nearly leapt from her skin; Dean Winchester was standing right behind her. "Fucking hell, Dean!" Evangeline snapped.

His green eyes swept down and up her attire. Both approval and disapproval was reflected in his gaze. "I still don't like this plan."

Evangeline looked down, a curtain of long, straight black hair spilling down her shoulders. From her stilettos to her short, black skirt, up to the red, deeply cut top, the woman was dressed specifically to attract the wrong sort of attention. "I'm bait, remember?" she asked as she looked back up. "Dickhead shifter kidnapping women so he can torture and rape them?"

Dean moved slightly forward, one hand reaching out to grasp the Impala's roof. "Still a stupid fucking idea. You're gonna get hurt."

They were close, intimately so. Gently, Evangeline put her hand on Dean's chest and pushed. "We talked about this," she said quietly.

The other hunter stepped back, chagrined. "It ain't like I can just turn it off and on."

"I know." Evangeline lifted up on her toes and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I'll be careful. I promise."

Dean resisted sweeping the woman into his arms for a far more engaging encounter. They loved one another, but their brief foray as a couple had been disastrous. Moreover, there was another who cherished her, and, much to Dean's chagrin, Evangeline found happiness with him, far more than she could have tied down in their tempestuous relationship.

"Hey," Sam said as he rounded the trunk. "You guys ready?"

The Winchester brothers, regularly dressed in jeans and flannels, sported slacks and collared button-downs, looking for all the world as if they were nothing other than single men about to engage in a night of single-man revelry. "Dennis started his shift?" asked Dean.

"Yeah, just watched him switch with the other guy." Sam glanced from his brother to his brother's erstwhile paramour and took stock of the tension between them. "We don't have to do this tonight," he said carefully.

Evangeline made a noise somewhere between a raspberry and a snort before marching down the parking lot towards the club. The Winchesters exchanged consternated glances before following.

* * *

Sergeant Fin Tutuola took a long look around the meat market and gave a sigh. The place was packed wall to wall with potential victims, but as their current serial rapist-turned-killer had left no other substantial clues on poor Mariana Lopez' body this was the only lead.

Their mystery antagonist had begun their spree five weeks prior. A victim a week had been discovered, all young women, left discarded naked in alleyways on top of garbage. Up until last night, however, all of the women had been found alive; beaten, cut, and raped, but alive. Whether Mariana's death had been purposeful or accidental they weren't certain. A few more hours and Dr. Warner would have more answers.

A pair of pretty-boys with an attractive young Asian entered. She laughed at something the taller one said before making her way towards the dance floor. Fin couldn't pinpoint exactly what made him eye the trio so speculatively. Perhaps it was the way they moved; too fluid and wary to be just a group of friends out for a good time. Perhaps it was how all three were scanning the crowd while pretending to order drinks and (in the woman's case) grind on a handsome stranger. Perhaps it was the bulge of a firearm Fin spotted as an outline on the back of the shorter man's coat when the pair sat down.

"Heads up," Fin said into his mic. "Two dudes, white guys, at the bar. At least one's packing."

"What're you thinking?" came the slightly Southern voice of his partner: lithe, blonde Detective Amanda Rollins who, in keeping with their subterfuge as simple club patrons, was rocking to the DJ's beats on the very edge of the dance floor.

"Not our guy, but might wanna keep an eye on them just in case."

"You're just jealous they're prettier than you."

"Focus, people," ordered Lieutenant Olivia Benson, their commanding officer. She and Detective Sonny Carisi, the newest member of their squad, were in a mobile unit in a nearby alley watching the proceedings through the club's security cameras.

The four seasoned Special Victim's Unit detectives watched from their unique viewpoints, doing their best to see through the mass of bodies in order to pinpoint a possible serial rapist. "This is impossible," Carisi groused, his Brooklyn accent thickening in line with his aggravation.

"It's the only lead we've got," Benson murmured. "Better safe than sorry." She peered at the two men Fin had identified. "Why do they look so familiar?"

"Maybe they're movie stars? Or they're on TV?"

"I'm not sure."

* * *

Sam watched his brother nurse his beer and frowned. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be? She's a big girl."

"No, I mean—"

"I know what you mean." Dean shrugged. "If we weren't here then she'd go off and do it on her own. You know how she is."

"Yeah." At the moment, Evangeline was dancing with a blonde, slightly older than her, with shoulder-length hair and an engaging grin. "Check it out."

"Hel-lo," Dean murmured appreciatively. "Hey, you ever think—"

"No."

"Guess you would know."

Sam grimaced. He'd spent some time intimately with Evangeline as well, though the circumstances had been far different. It wasn't like his brother to bring up such a harrowing time, but Sam understood why. "You think she told Cass?"

"No."

"How're you do—"

"I swear to God, Sam, if you ask me _again_ if I'm okay with those two I will punch you in the face."

They sat in silence for a bit, lost in thought. This was far different, Sam reflected, than when Dean had lost Cassie or even when he'd given up Lisa. It was much more difficult for Sam's brother to let go of the woman he loved when his best friend was the one who had stolen her away, particularly with the four of them having taken permanent residence in the Men of Letters Bunker. Having his rejection thrown in his face whenever Castiel came home must be tearing Dean apart.

The blonde had moved on. Dean's eyes followed her hungrily, which is why he saw when she pressed a finger to her ear and began speaking. The sudden stiffness of her demeanor and the way her eyes swept from the brothers back to Evangeline made him instantly suspicious. "I think we got cops," he muttered into his beer.

"The blonde?"

Of course Sam would have seen it first. "Yeah." The blonde had resumed her farce but neither Winchester was fooled. "If there's one then there's a shit-ton more around here."

* * *

"Hey! We gotta go!"

Evangeline lifted her eyebrows at Dean. "What for?"

"Cops."

The female hunter nodded. She knew about their past with the law. As misinformed as the feds or the local precinct might be they could cause the brothers a monstrous amount of problems. "Right."

"Let's go." Dean grabbed her wrist to help haul her through the crowd. Eva's lip curled in an angry snarl. They were going to have words, _again_, about how his overprotectiveness was both unnecessary and unwanted. Besides, he was holding her so tightly she was bound to have bruises.

* * *

"We better bail." Their names and faces, as far as Sam and Dean knew, were still in the FBI database. Presuming that they were listed as "deceased," courtesy of having defeated a few homicidal Leviathan, didn't mean much; they'd been classified as such before and they had still gotten pinned.

"Right." Dean stood. "Shit!"

"What?"

"Where's Eva?"

Panicked, the Winchesters scanned the dance floor. Their friend, their decidedly overeager bait, was gone.

* * *

"Screenshot that," Benson told the technician, "and put it through facial recognition. I just can't shake the feeling—"

"Hey, Lieutenant?" Rollins said through her earpiece. "That Asian woman who came in with the two men? She's gettin' pulled away by one of them and she ain't lookin' too happy about it."

"Follow them. Fin?"

"You sure?" the sergeant asked doubtfully. "'Cause I'm lookin' at the two of 'em right now and they're still at their table."

Carisi and Benson exchanges bewildered glances. "What the hell is going on?" the lieutenant wondered.

"Hey, Liv?" Carisi asked, his finger on the screen showing the rear door. "Look at that."

"They're heading for the back," Benson called to her two detectives inside.

"No, no. I mean, look at this guy's eyes."

The lieutenant leaned in, her gaze narrowed. "Are… Are they _glowing_?"

* * *

"God fucking damnit," Dean cursed as he shoved his way between two couples, "fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

"There!" Sam said urgently. His greater height enabled him to see over the gyrating mass of club patrons to the rear exit. Eva's angry mien disappeared a moment later through the door.

The Winchesters pushed through the dance floor. Unbeknownst to them, two detectives were on their heels while another was receiving unpleasant news.

* * *

"Sam and Dean Winchester," the technician told Benson. "From the FBI database."

"Jesus," Carisi gasped. "I remember these guys now. They went on a murder spree couple o'years back. Shot up a bank and a diner. Thought they were dead."

"Fin, Rollins," Benson said urgently, "you hear?"

"Copy that," Fin replied.

* * *

The Winchesters burst through the rear exit to find nothing but an empty alley. A manhole at their feet was slightly ajar. Dean knelt to flip it open just as the door birthed the blonde and a black man, both with service revolvers out and ready. "Police! Hands up!" the woman shouted.

"Lady," Dean growled as he and his brother complied, "this ain't a good time."

"Where's the woman?"

"That's what we'd like to know!"

"Look, officers, we're feds," Sam said in a valiant attempt to lie. "If you would just let us get our ID's, we can explain everything."

"Yeah, bullshit," the black man said derisively. "We already know who you are: Sam and Dean Winchester. Our only issue now is gonna be askin' why the feds think you're dead."

Sam caught Dean glancing desperately at the open manhole. It was the same trick that a shifter had pulled on them in St. Louis; take off, slip down into the sewers, and go incognito in the maze beneath the city. "Don't," Sam whispered.

"She's gonna be—"

"Fin? Rollins?" called another woman as she hurried over. Attractive, middle-aged, and emanating an aura of authority, the other cops deferred to her as soon as she approached. "What happened?"

"Girl's gone," said the black man.

The newcomer looked from one Winchester to another. "Take these back to headquarters. Separate cars, separate interrogation rooms."

Sam submitted to being cuffed with frustrated resignation, but Dean struggled. "You assholes don't know what kind of monster you're messin' with."

"Two career criminals who murder and disturb the dead," the older woman snarled. "I'd say I know _exactly_ what kind of monster I'm messing with."

* * *

Lieutenant Benson walked from one interrogation room window to the other, taking stock of the way the Winchester brothers were handling their predicament. The taller one, Sam, had his hands flat on the table as he stared off into space. His brow was furrowed, but other than that he hadn't made any outward display of agitation.

It was the other Winchester, Dean, that had Liv and her squad on edge. He had his fingers clasped tightly together, the knuckles white. His leg was bouncing up and down underneath the table. Either of these could have been just tension brought on by his potential incarceration if it weren't for his eyes.

Dean Winchester's glare bore right through the one-way glass. At first, Benson thought it was the killer in the man coming to the fore. After a while, however, she realized that what she was seeing was _blame_. Pure, unadulterated fury directed squarely at her squad. The reason why was a mystery.

"How do you wanna do this?" Fin asked.

"It can't be coincidence," Benson murmured, "them being here at the same time as our serial rapist. They're either involved or they know what's going on."

"We bringin' in the feds?"

"So they can walk all over our investigation? Let's keep them away as long as possible." The lieutenant sighed. "You go in there with Rollins. Carisi and I will talk to Sam."

"Got it."

* * *

Sam heaved a sigh when the door finally opened. Time for the ol' law enforcement song and dance.

Normally he and his brother could get away with snark and obfuscation. It gave them the time to plan an escape or, at the very least, muddle the reason why they'd been arrested in the first place. This time, however, the life of someone they cared about was at stake. The sooner they could get out, the better.

A skinny, pale detective and the older woman from earlier (the lieutenant, Sam thought), sat down across from him, a manila folder in hand. "I'm Detective Carisi and this is Lieutenant Benson," the man said pleasantly. "And _you_ are the infamous Sam Winchester."

"Look," Sam urged, "this is all a mistake."

"I'm sure it is," said Benson. She opened the folder and the ubiquitous mugshots appeared. "Sam and Dean Winchester. Charges of credit card fraud, breaking and entering, impersonation of a police officer, impersonation of a federal officer, assault, corpse desecration, kidnapping, murder." The woman slapped the pages closed. "Not to mention the fact that in 2011 the pair of you were reported to have been slain while in custody."

"I can explain—"

"Really," Carisi scoffed.

Irritated at the detective's demeanor, Sam leaned back in his chair and looked away. It wouldn't do him or Dean any good to get into any _more_ trouble.

* * *

"You're gonna be sorry," Dean snarled as soon as the black man and the blonde entered the room.

"Yeah?" asked the man. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm not the guy you're lookin' for. Means you're wasting your fucking time."

The pair stared disbelievingly. "Really."

Three different ways to escape had already occurred to the hunter before the detectives had entered. Two more came to mind _after_. "I'm gettin' out of here. One way or the other. It's better for you and yours if you just went and let me go."

"That a threat?"

Dean smirked. "A promise."

* * *

After several more pointless questions, Sam had had enough. The woman he'd come to think of as part of his family could be dead, dying, or worse by this point. There was little to no doubt in his mind that the shifter had picked Evangeline out of that crowd because he knew what they were and why they had come to the city. "You're wasting time!" Sam shouted. "Go down that manhole, you'll find your evidence!"

"What makes you think we can trust you?" asked Carisi.

"Please, I'm _begging_ you to listen. That woman you keep asking about is a friend, a _good_ friend. If you've been looking for this guy then you know what he's going to be doing to her!"

"Okay," Benson said softly. "Okay, fine. So then tell me: who are we looking for? A name? A description? Something we can use."

A name? Oh, the shapeshifter probably had had one, once upon a time, but who knew what he went by now. A description…? Of which identity could they go by? Was it even a man?

Maybe… Maybe he could go for the truth. "You're not looking for a 'who.' It's a 'what.'"

The detectives exchanged bemused glances. "I don't understand," said the lieutenant.

"It's…" How to put it in a way that civilians could comprehend? "It can… it knows how to change appearances. It can make itself look like anyone. Which is why you need to do what I said and go check out that sewer!"

"He knows how to disguise himself," Carisi said thoughtfully. "Like a makeup-artist or something."

Exasperated, Sam merely said, "Sure."

"Then he's still gotta have a name, a handle, some kinda ID."

"No, because he'll just take whatever one he's borrowing at the time."

"That's… improbable," Benson said. "But not out of the realm of possibility."

"Aw, c'mon lieutenant!" her detective said belligerently. "It's obvious what's going on here. These two mooks got a third guy they're covering for and now that they've been caught they're trying to throw him under the bus!"

At their recalcitrance Sam bent over to clutch his head; his hands had been cuffed to the table. The last time they'd dealt with a psychopathic shifter they'd had use good old fashioned hunter detective work. A woman had nearly died and Sam's friend had been severely hurt by the thing before it could be taken down. Now, however, they had better connections.

"Cass," Sam muttered into the table, "we're in New York. Midtown Manhattan. Police station. Eva's been kidnapped."

A breeze swirled through the room, blowing the manila folder and it's contents to the floor. "What's happened?" the angel demanded.

"JESUS!"

* * *

"You think you can get away with threatening a police officer?" Fin shouted.

To the detective's consternation, Dean Winchester merely smiled. "There ain't nothin' you got that'll scare me," he said softly.

The veteran police officer was taken aback. Some of the perps Fin had encountered blustered and strutted in the interrogation room, their bravado stemming from desperation. Sure, there was the odd psychopath or sociopath who merely didn't care, but this was different.

For one, Dean Winchester hadn't made any denials or accusations regarding either his involvement with the woman's disappearance or any of his other alleged crimes. He _had_ threatened to escape, but he hadn't directly offered violence in one way or the other.

For another, Fin noticed that Dean hadn't directed any of his ire at Rollins. She was still dressed in her undercover attire, skintight pants and a low-cut, loose blouse. Her partner had caught the man sneaking glances at his partner's… assets, something every male (and a few female) officers in the building had done from time to time. As protective as he was over the woman, Fin had learned to interpret those looks as either predatory or admiring, and Dean Winchester definitely fell in the latter category.

"Fine," Fin finally snarled, making the best of the impression he was giving of the "bad cop" in the room. "You talk to this psycho," he told Rollins. "I'm outta here."

The two detectives exchanged a moment of silent communication. Rollins knew what Fin intended. Time to be the sultry Southern belle.

Except as soon as Fin opened the door, all three of them could hear Carisi's muffled, "JESUS!" from the other room. Both detectives rushed out and left the suspect (and the paper clip he'd purloined on the way in) alone.

* * *

Both Benson and Carisi's chair clattered to the floor. The lieutenant merely backed warily towards the door, but Carisi had his firearm out and pointed the second he was standing. "Who are you?" he shouted. "How the hell did he get in here?"

The stranger, a blue-eyed, dark-haired man in a suit and a trench coat, ignored the questions. His fists were clenched. "Sam…"

"She volunteered!" the cuffed man explained. "You know how she is."

"What has her?"

The door burst open as Winchester replied, "A shapeshifter. A psychopath. Can you—"

"Liv?" Fin asked worriedly. "What's going on?"

Benson gestured her sergeant to be quiet. The conversation before them was far more informative than the interrogation they'd been trying to hold a moment ago. She was certainly shocked, far more than she was letting on, but if what was happening before her helped them nail their rapist she was willing to put her own questions aside for now.

"I _can't_," the stranger was saying. "You are all cloaked from me, even her."

"Lieutenant?" Carisi asked, his voice and his gun quivering. "Are we just lettin' this go?"

"Mr. Winchester," Benson said carefully. "You will need to explain this. _Now_."

Sam Winchester ignored her, much to all her squad's frustration. "Then pinpoint all the shifters in the city."

"We are in _New York_," the other man snapped. "There are approximately two hundred shifters living here, along with a like number of vampires and twice as many spirits. I cannot possibly investigate them all!"

Tired of being ignored, and realizing that the men's parley was getting nowhere, Benson stepped forward and slammed her hand on the table. "Enough! Mr. Winchester, I don't know what sort of trick this is—"

"It's not a trick!" Sam said. "I needed help."

The trench coated man had yet to acknowledge anyone else. "Where was she last?"

"Alleyway behind a club called Sapphire."

"Let's go." To the four detectives' complete astonishment, the stranger grabbed the chain links between Sam Winchester's cuffs, gave an effortless pull, and snapped the steel apart.

A second surprise had Fin and Rollins stumbling sideways as an unbound Dean Winchester pushed his way inside. "Cass! Get us out of here."

That singularly undesirable statement had the SVU squad jumping to panicked decisions. Fin immediately moved to restrain the elder of the brothers and found himself reaching for empty space. The man came back up from his ducking position fist-first, knocking the veteran detective back into the wall.

Both Benson and Sam shouted desperately for calm as Rollins jumped into the fray, two fingers in a jabbing position. Dean took the blow intended for his throat in his arm, but was taken by surprise when the woman's foot connected with his stomach. He let out a grunt as the mystery figure, Cass, moved to his aid.

"Freeze!" Carisi ordered over the noise. The trench coated man paid no heed. Others repeated the order, and when the newcomer grabbed Rollins' collar Carisi reacted.

Two shots exploded in the small, bricked room, silencing the growing melee. Everyone stared at the back of the stranger's coat. A pair of smoking holes now marred the fabric. He released Detective Rollins and turned around. Matching exit wounds ruined his white button down, their appearance made more startling by the lack of blood.

The silence stretched uncomfortably… right up until Rollins coughed wetly and collapsed onto the ground.

"Call a bus!" Fin cried at the squad-room as he knelt down to try and stem the flow from the wounds in her chest. It was hopeless, he could see that, but he had to try _something_.

"Move," the trench coated man ordered. He shoved Fin aside with a strength belied by his size and put his hands above both of the woman's wounds.

A bright light emanated from the stranger's palms, slightly blinding everyone present. Rollins cried out and tried to lurch upwards, her face contorted in pain. A few moments later Cass closed his palms, the light dissipating, and moved away.

Rollins pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her partner reached a hand out and helped her to her feet. When she put a hand on where her blouse was bloodied it came back clean. "What…?"

"You're welcome," Cass said caustically before stumbling into the wall.

"All right, that's it," Benson shouted definitively. "Cancel the bus. I want everyone in my office. _Now_."

"Us, too?" Sam wondered, confused.

"You all, _especially_."


	2. 2

(9/18/2019) Thank you **SigalShleifer** for the review!

* * *

A silent squad-room greeted the unlikely parade marching itself towards Benson's office. Escorted by Fin and Rollins on opposite sides, Dean glowered, but Sam hunched his shoulders in a futile attempt to look smaller. His plan had backfired _spectacularly_ and now they were just wasting time.

Lieutenant Benson rounded her desk once they arrived. Last to enter was a sickly pale Carisi, who shut the door quickly behind him. "Lieutenant," the detective began, "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"I know, Carisi," Benson said soothingly, "but rather than call in IAB and drown you in paperwork, I'd like to know why _he_ isn't dead."

Castiel was wavering on his feet, leaving either Sam or Dean to fill in the gap. Unfortunately, neither had come up with a sufficiently realistic explanation in the minutes since the shots had been fired. "Uh… luck?" Dean tried. "Like, Pulp Fiction kinda luck?"

"The bullets went _through him_," the lieutenant countered angrily. "No one here saw anything otherwise. Not only that, but we just watched what I assume was some kind of miracle!" She glared at the three men in her custody. "You'll give me the truth _right now_ or we'll just dump you all in lockup while we wait for the feds."

"No, don't!" Sam exclaimed urgently. "Please. Just… Just give us a sec, okay?"

As the two brothers conferred quietly (and furiously), and Benson dealt with Carisi's continuous apologies, Fin turned to his partner. "You sure you're all right?"

Rollins nodded, her eyes still wide. "I just… I wanna know what the hell is going on." She turned to her savior who, in lieu of offering any explanations, was gazing longingly at the chair in front of Benson's desk. The detective pulled it out and gestured for him to sit. "Please."

"Thank you." The man sat heavily down on the seat.

"I should thank _you_, shouldn't I? You saved my life."

"I suppose. If you wish to really thank me, you will convince your lieutenant to let us go."

"I can't do that." Amanda's brow furrowed in concern. "You gonna be all right?"

Cass shrugged. "I merely need rest."

There was more bothering the man (man? _Was_ it just a man?), but now wasn't the time to delve further into his troubles. "So can you tell me what just happened? I mean—" Rollins gestured to the holes in her blouse, ones that exposed unblemished skin that had, not ten minutes prior, been marred by bullet holes.

"I am… _was_…" Castiel gave a lugubrious sigh, "_am_ an angel of the Lord."

"Angel?" Rollins repeated, astonished.

"Yeah," Dean inserted, his discussion with his brother having come to a sullen conclusion. "Halo, wings, diaper."

"I am _not_ incontinent," Cass said indignantly.

"You expect us to believe he's really an _angel_?" Carisi scoffed.

Dean turned a vicious smirk towards the tow-headed detective. "We could summon a demon. That'll put things into perspective."

"That won't be necessary," Benson said quickly. "Let's put all that aside for now. I'm assuming we're after the same perp: the rapist that's been terrorizing our city for the past month and a half."

"Like we've been trying to tell you," Sam said. "We're not the bad guys here."

The lieutenant stabbed a finger at the manila folder on her desk. "Then explain your records."

"Lots of misunderstandings," Sam said hurriedly, but not quickly enough to cover Castiel's truthful explanation of, "Monsters."

"Cass," Dean groaned.

Most of the detectives in the room stared at the trio with either disbelief or apprehension. The exception was the lieutenant who was beginning to radiate contempt. "Monsters," she repeated.

"There are things out there," Sam said, reigning in his panic over the time being wasted. His brother, by contrast, began to pace. "Lots of things you guys think are legends or fairy tales, but are really walking around either eating or hurting humans. We," he continued, gesturing between Dean and himself, "and others like us hunt them down."

"Others? How many others?"

"I… I'm not sure. But some of these things look like you and me, and it leads to a lot of misunderstandings."

"Enough of this shit!" Dean finally cried. "You letting us go or not? That asshole has Eva and you know what it's going to be doing to her."

The SVU detectives were silent, waiting on their lieutenant to make a decision. "No," she said finally. "You're not leaving. But—" Benson added sharply as Dean's fists clenched, "—you're not under arrest. If what you say is true then we need your help. If it's _not_, then I don't want you wandering my streets."

Sam and Dean glanced at one another. Though the latter was ready to bust through a room full of armed policemen in order to save their friend (damn the consequences or the definite probability of getting killed), the former weighed the possibilities of teaming up with cooperative police. It could be the one time they leave a hunt _without_ having to deal with irate law enforcement. On the other hand, if it went sour, this agency was a good deal bigger and better connected than some podunk, one-Starbucks town in the middle of the Midwest.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Castiel severed the Gordian knot by lurching to his feet and proclaiming, "You cannot keep me here. I am going to find Evangeline."

"Sit. Down," Benson demanded.

"No," the angel growled. He turned around unsteadily and pushed his way towards the door.

Finn stood in the way, his hands held out. "Now hold on—"

One simple, sweeping gesture had the detective flying across Benson's office and crashing into the two-way mirror. Rollins rushed to his side as the lieutenant and Carisi gaped. A uniform burst through the door and met the same treatment as Finn, only the woman was flung into the heart of the squad room. She smashed into the lockers opposite the lieutenant's office before dropping to the floor and lying still.

Nearly a dozen service revolvers were immediately out and pointed at the trench-coated man emerging from the lieutenant's office. The standard calls for "hands up!" or "don't move!" were thrown towards him. Castiel merely stared back, furious with the humans, the shapeshifter, and _her_.

Dean grabbed a coat sleeve and pulled as hard as he could. It was like trying to move a boulder. "Cass, stop!" he pleaded.

The angel's head turned to glare over his shoulder. Carisi and Benson were astounded at the sight of white-blue light piercing through his pupils. A steady, rising whine began to fill to air. Desk lamps and overhead fluorescents popped as the noise grew unbearably loud. Members of the NYPD ducked and covered their ears as Castiel snarled, "I will not let her suffer at the hands of another monster!"

Several lights shining into Benson's door were still functioning. A shadow lay across the windows, emanating from the back of the Winchesters' companion. An _impossible_ shadow.

A shadow depicting the agitated unfurling of great _wings_.

"We won't let that happen," Dean Winchester was saying softly. "I promise. Me and Sam, we care about her, too, you know that, and we are gonna do everything to get her back. But right now you gotta calm down, okay?"

The light from Castiel's eyes faded, as did the appearance of feathered appendages. Ceiling fixtures cracked and sparked, but other than that silence reigned. Stunned, the police merely stared, their minds unable to comprehend exactly what they had just experienced. "Okay, good," Dean said with a sigh. "Now, you know her. Whatever's going on, whatever that son of a bitch is doing, she's strong enough. You got me?"

"Yes," Castiel replied.

Benson glanced over at Finn. His injury appeared to be more to his pride than to his body, if the sheepish look he was giving his partner was anything to go by. Good, because the lieutenant knew she needed to clean this up _quick_. Her own existential crisis could wait. "All right people!" she called as she walked around her desk to the door. "Show's over! Sir," she said to Castiel, overly loud so that the others could hear, "refrain from using your electrical devices inside my squad-room, understand? Keep them turned off."

The trench-coated man cocked his head over, baffled. "What elec—"

"He understands," Sam cut in quickly. "Sorry, everyone!" he shouted.

Benson's elite squad kept their mouths shut despite their incredulity. As a result, the other officers and detectives began to murmur, then talk and deride each other about their reactions to the "electrical device." Many were skeptical, yes, but their ingrained sense of obedience and duty had most of them taking their lieutenant's word. She gave them all an encouraging smile and nod, delegated a few to contact paramedics and maintenance, then shoved both Dean Winchester and his enigmatic… something-or-other back into her office.

"Liv?" Finn wondered, worried over his longtime friend's blank expression.

"An angel," Carisi whispered, awestruck. "A real angel." He fell to his knees. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned—"

Castiel cut across the impending prayer by requesting, "Please, don't." He sat heavily into the same chair he'd vacated and began rubbing his temples.

"Cass, you dumbass," Dean uttered with a sigh, "your batteries were low to begin with. Nice temper tantrum."

Carisi got to his feet. "Did you just call an angel of the Lord a 'dumbass'?"

"He has called me far worse names," Castiel grumbled.

"Um, lieutenant?" Sam asked gently. "I'm sorry, I know this is a lot—"

"Stop," Benson said quietly. "Just… stop." She sat down slowly into her desk chair and pressed her fingers to her temples. When Finn began to ask after her condition, the lieutenant quietly ordered, "Give me a minute."

Carisi was still reeling from the revelation, Rollins was tipping over from bewilderment to belief, and Finn was inscrutable. Liv wanted nothing more than to go back in time and stifle her own curiosity over the Winchester brothers. At the very least, doing so would prevent her current theological dilemma.

Unable to move past the possibility that angels were _real_, the lieutenant almost missed the buzzing from her pocket. She lifted her phone with a shaking hand. "Lucy."

"Hi, Olivia! Noah just wanted to say good night."

From the background, a small boy cried out, "Good night, mommy!"

A smile lit up Benson's face. "Good night, my love."

Lucy cooed at the woman's adopted toddler before explaining, "He insisted and he was being so good I thought he could use a treat."

"No, no, don't worry about it. Thank you."

"See you soon. Say bye-bye, Noah!"

"Bye-bye!"

The call ended, and with it Benson's crippling indecisiveness. Liv had her squad, her job, and her son; everything else was just window dressing. Her place in the world was _here_ as a law enforcement officer of New York City, not in dark corners gallivanting with the supernatural. If she had gone nearly fifty years without needing to investigate monsters or angels she could certainly bear her own ignorance a bit longer. A woman was in the hands of a psychopath, and no matter the thing's origins it had still irrevocably damaged four women's lives. Far more if you counted those affected by the death of Mariana Lopez.

"All right," Benson said into the silence. "I don't care right now about… about angels or whatever. I want to know how we can get this murdering, raping son of a bitch off the streets."

"We need to go back to that alley," Sam said. "The manhole. Guarantee you we'll find the evidence we need down that pipe."

"Great," Fin groused. "That means callin' the city and gettin' maps and permits and—"

"No time. Please. One of us will go and-and the others will stay. I promise you we're here to help. We won't abandon each other."

The lieutenant looked from one brother to the other, then to the exhausted "angel" slumped down in her visitor's chair. She caught both Sam and Dean glancing worriedly down at the man while he stared glumly forward, tired and frustrated by the night's events. They were close, these three, and she felt Sam was telling the truth: they wouldn't abide any of the others being held by the unmerciful hands of the New York penal system. However, while Benson was beginning to trust Sam, there was an aura of violence surrounding the man, one that was amplified a thousandfold around his increasingly agitated brother. Separating them seemed like a grand idea. "Rollins," Liv said decisively, "get dressed. You and Fin escort Dean Winchester back to that alley. Sam and Cass—"

"Castiel," muttered the angel as he lurched to his feet.

The lieutenant continued smoothly through the interruption. "—Castiel will remain in custody pending his return."

"No. I'm going."

"No," Dean countered, "you're _not_.

"I'm. _Going_."

In response, the elder of the Winchester pushed on the angel's chest. When Castiel staggered backwards far too easily, Dean said, "Charge the batteries. If Eva's… When we find her, if she's…"

The hunter trailed off. No need to clarify; if Castiel couldn't stand against a human's strength there was no way he was prepared to utilize his celestial abilities to do anything more than _look_ threatening. "You will send a message when you find something."

It wasn't a request. "Yeah, Cass. Of course."

"One step out of line," Benson warned, "_just one_, and I'll have all of you in Riker's before you can say 'Hail Mary'."

Castiel scowled. "That won't—"

"Got it!" Dean cut across the man. "We got it."

"Good. Get going." In a far gentler tone, the lieutenant added, "Find your friend before it's too late."

Rollins led the way from the room, sandwiching Dean between her and Fin, leaving Sam to deal with the pensive looks of Lieutenant Benson and Detective Carisi. He twisted his hands nervously. "So. Um. Got a computer I could borrow?"

* * *

The last thing Evangeline remembered from the club was being struck on the head. Hard. She dragged her eyelids up to find herself handcuffed to a bed, each wrist encased in manacled steel on opposite sides of the headboard. Her clothes were thankfully still intact, though her costume for attracting the attention of the vile thing standing at the other end of the room left little to the imagination.

He still hadn't shed Dean's skin. "Great," Eva groaned. "Just like Zachariah."

The shapeshifter narrowed Dean's eyes. "Who?"

"Never mind. Is this how you operate? Banging girls over the head like some kind of cave man?"

It grinned. "Most come willingly. Especially when I got the face of their friend. Sometimes you women are just too fucking gullible."

Evangeline sighed. Usual psychotic babble. "So we getting this shitshow on the road or what?"

He advanced, a cruel, lewd smirk distorting Dean's features. "Do you know what kinda thoughts this dude has of you? What he wants to do to you every time he gets close?"

Since Evangeline had spent a good amount of time in bed with Dean… "Vague idea, yeah."

"I don't think you do." The shifter crawled onto the mattress and straddled Eva's hips. "It ain't about sex, though there's that. Sometimes he wants to just get a gun and shoot you and your boyfriend's heads off for fucking him over."

Evangeline swallowed the lump the thing's statement built, but did her best to maintain her bravado. It still wasn't a new sentiment, yet it was so much more wrenching to hear it out loud. There were far scarier things lurking in a hunter's history than a deranged shapeshifter. "What, you going to make his dreams come true?"

"Oh no, sweetheart." It leaned over and licked a stripe up the woman's cheek. "I got better plans," he whispered.

Eva laughed.

The creature sat up, his brows furrowed in anger. "What's so fucking funny?"

"Here's the thing, dickwad," the hunter snarled. "I know what you need to get it up. You need me to _submit_. Otherwise you're _limp_."

The shifter bared his teeth before backhanding her. "Shut up!

Evangeline bared reddened teeth in a defiant grin. "I've been tortured by someone with a hell of a lot more skill than some impotent fucktard who can't get off unless he makes someone beg for their life. So do your worst."

The shifter's fists clenched open and closed, the look of confusion and fury on Dean's features so incongruent to the man she knew that the duplicity became blatant. Then he smiled. "Okay," said the shifter. "I will."

* * *


	3. 3

(11/7/2019) Thank you **Makanie** and **ngregory763** for the reviews!

* * *

The car ride back to Sapphire was long and uncomfortable, at least for the two passengers. Rollins was still bewildered over her near-death experience and had no idea how to vocalize her concerns. Dean was anxious over Eva's absence as well as the prospect of leaving his brother in the hands of unknown authorities. By contrast, Finn (who had volunteered to drive) found the silence rather soothing.

As soon as they had parked their standard NYPD-issued vehicle, Dean headed for his car. The impressively well-maintained 1967 Chevrolet Impala parked in a nearby alleyway had both detectives making noises of admiration and approval. However, when they got close to the hood Dean abruptly requested, "Stay there."

"What?" Fin asked.

"Just… trust me. Better you don't know."

Rollins exchanged apprehensive glances with her partner, but Fin merely shrugged. "A'ight."

"Really?" Rollins asked incredulously.

"You wanna make up the lie about whatever it is he's got hiding back there?"

"Nope."

After few minutes of clunking and the shifting of metal Dean closed his trunk. He held out two blades which shone oddly in the light. "Silver," the hunter explained. "Won't do shit to most things, but for this guy? It'll be fatal."

The two detectives took the proffered weapons. "If you say so," Rollins muttered skeptically.

"What've you got?" Fin asked.

Dean opened up his jacket. A thick handled stiletto peeked out from an inside pocket. "Angel blade," he explained with a smirk. "Kills pretty much everything."

"Yeah? How do you go about gettin' one of those?"

The elder Winchester grimaced. "Off a dead angel."

Rollins frowned. "That… That just sounds incredibly…"

"Difficult?" Fin offered.

"I was gonna say 'sad'. I mean, it's a dead _angel_."

"Most of 'em deserve it," Dean growled. He marched past the two consternated detectives without pause and effectively stifled their inquiries.

Around the corner and across the street had them at the same manhole they'd arrested the brothers at the night before. The sunlight revealed what hadn't been obvious in the dark; the cover had been moved. It was askew only slightly, its lip tilted at an angle just this side of suspicious. Fin hefted the crowbar he'd brought from their vehicle and, with Dean's help, removed the cast iron circle.

Rollins clicked her flashlight and swept it back and forth down the ladder. "Nothing obvious. Could call in CSU and get it all processed. Might be fingerprints."

"Won't do any good," Dean argued. "This thing don't got permanent fingers." Before either of the NYPD officers could object, the hunter planted his boots on the top rung and began to descend, effectively smearing any latent evidence the suspect might have left behind.

"But—"

"Too late, Amanda," Fin said with a sigh. "You stay up here, keep watch."

Certain she was witnessing a case of overprotective masculinity, Rollins instinctively began to object, but when she caught a whiff of the stench permeating the area below she changed her mind. "Fine by me." She handed her partner the flashlight and stepped back.

Dean caught the torch Fin tossed as soon as he hit the bottom. "Ready?" asked the hunter.

"What're we looking for?"

"Something gross."

Seeing the nearby remnants of someone's spaghetti dinner slowly rotting amidst the half-eaten corpse of a particularly large rat didn't exactly assuage the detective's doubts. "Seriously?"

"Trust me. That ain't nothing to what we're looking for."

They treaded carefully down the maintenance walkway. Occasionally they passed a grate and the sound of New York's streets drifted in. Other than that, however, their meandering was done mostly in silence. When they did finally find what they were looking for the sound of Fin's yell sent the sewer's denizens scurrying away. "The fuck is that?" the detective demanded.

Dean knelt down and fingered the mass of skin and white, viscous goop. "Good. Now we know for sure it's a shapeshifter."

Outraged, Fin asked, "You mean you weren't sure _before_?"

"You think that's the only thing out there that can change the way it looks?" Dean refuted as he stood back up. "It's just the easiest to kill."

The detective sighed. "Now what?"

"I have no freaking clue." The Winchester's fidgeting hands belied his nonchalant tone. After pondering a bit, Dean pulled out his cell phone. "No signal."

"Me neither. Let's head back, let Rollins know what's up."

"Yeah, and get Sam on in this."

After Fin had carefully scraped up a bit of shapeshifter leftovers into an evidence bag, the two men wove their way silently back down the tubes. It was obvious, at least to Dean, that the shifter had picked this city _specifically_ for the maze just underneath the surface; it made for a frustratingly intricate hideaway for a creature that wanted to indulge its violent predilections. Charging down one way or the other would only get them lost, and with Eva's life on the line that wasn't an option.

Fin had taken the lead, but had, oddly, paused at the foot of the ladder, his gaze at his feet. "What is it?" Dean asked.

The detective crouched down, snatched something off the dark floor, and came back up. He spun around and held out the item: a smashed cell phone. Abruptly, Fin slapped the broken device into Dean's chest made a quick, hazardous climb up the ladder.

"Shit!" cursed the detective as Dean crested the top. The hunter made a quick sweep around the alleyway and quickly realized what had the man spitting vulgarities.

The alleyway was empty. A silver blade lay abandoned on the cement.

Detective Amanda Rollins was _gone_.

* * *

"_What?_ Get back here right away, Fin."

With great self-control, Lieutenant Benson prevented herself from throwing her phone at the wall. It was unlikely that Rollins was anywhere safe. Though the younger woman could be impulsive, she would never have left her partner alone at the mercy of a potentially murderous rapist and whatever Dean Winchester was.

Benson marched out of her office already announcing the latest predicament. "Rollins is gone. We're pretty damn sure this thing of yours has her."

Sam looked up, startled at the development. "I'm… I'm sorry. This is our fault. If we hadn't come—"

"—We'd still be chasing our tails trying to figure out this psychopath." Liv shook her head. "No, I'm grateful for your information as long as it pans out. Besides, whatever… _whoever_ this guy is, he's got a member of the NYPD and we take care of our own. There won't be many places for him to hide."

"I do not see how you could find him," Castiel refuted, "even if you used _all_ of your police officers. It would take days, _weeks_ even, to cover every inch of this city from top to bottom."

"Then give me an idea. _Something_. He has both of our friends now."

The angel shrugged, his stillness belying the relentlessness of the intervening hours. According to Sam, the celestial being had healed several cuts and bruises, used a swipe of his arm to move the majority of the debris from their whiteboard area, then wiped the memories of his temper from anyone other than Benson and her squad. The lieutenant had dismissed nearly everyone afterwards, claiming, rightfully, that maintenance needed to repair the room before they could resume work. While she'd been handling that mess, the angel had walked up to the roof (breaking the chain link lock on the door with ease) and had apparently spent time listening to the city. After returning Castiel had taken to selecting files and criminal law books that were scattered about SVU headquarters with no apparent rhyme or reason to what he wanted to read.

Curious, Carisi stopped perusing an overlapping map of the city's sewage lines to ask, "I thought you needed rest."

"I do," Castiel replied. He peered at the detective, puzzled, from his stiff-backed perch on a nearby desk. "I _am_ resting."

"Yeah, but… ah, never mind." The Italian Catholic shrugged. "Who am I to question an emissary of Our Lord?"

"Human."

"Excuse me?"

"You asked who you were to question me. You're human." The angel turned a page on his latest acquisition; a painstakingly detailed record of court documents from the 1980s. "I find most of you like to question everything even when the reasoning is perfectly clear. Dean and Evangeline do it often."

It was the first time since the elder of the Winchesters had left that Castiel had mentioned the woman, and the bite of his tone spoke volumes. While Sam and Benson conferred about the best way to go about hunting the monster down, Carisi decided to test a theory he'd been harboring. It would serve to distract him from his worry over Rollins. "So, this Evangeline. She sounds like a tough customer."

A page stilled halfway from being turned. "Yes."

"Known her long?"

"Several years now."

"What's she like?"

"Stubborn. Temperamental. Independent." A few moments passed as the angel slowly finished his aborted movement. "Selfless. Strong." Castiel paused. Softly, he added, "Beautiful."

"You care for her," Carisi said carefully.

"I love her."

It was told not with nonchalance, but as a firm statement of truth. "Don't you love all people? Like the Book says."

"The Bible gets many things wrong. I have a great admiration for humanity, but my brothers and sisters are not capable of loving _everyone_."

"So when you say you love this Evangeline…"

The angel's steely blue gaze lifted from the book and bore into Carisi. "What else could it mean? It means that I cherish her. I would kill for her. _Die_ for her. And I know she would do the same for me."

Taken aback, the detective merely said, "Oh," and waited until Castiel had resumed reading before tearing his own eyes away.

For a boy brought up in the Catholic Church it was difficult to fathom that a representative of God would fixate on a single woman. The ubiquitous picture of a heavenly figure, his (or her) wings spread in welcome with supplicants kneeling before them in prayer, clashed with this angel's rather selfish conviction. There must be something else, Carisi decided, something special or inhuman about the woman. Or perhaps Castiel was lying; perhaps it was merely a tactic to allow them to concentrate on their case.

Castiel slapped the book he was reading closed. "I would like to see the body of Mariana Lopez."

"What for?" Benson asked, bemused.

"I may see something you missed."

"I assure you that our medical examiner does excellent work."

The angel frowned, but before he could antagonize the lieutenant with what would most likely be an insensitive comment towards their competence Sam quickly inserted, "A fresh set of eyes is never bad."

Eyebrows raised, Benson acquiesced. "Carisi, stay here with Sam, try and dig up more leads. I'll take Castiel down to see Warner."

"Got it, Lieu."

* * *

Amanda groaned, her face still throbbing. She hadn't thought twice when Carisi had showed up at their location with the excuse that Liv had sent the other detective to help out at the scene. The abnormality of the command struck her a moment too late; with the lieutenant having sent all but the four of them home she would have never left herself alone in the squad room with a suspect, let alone two. Rollins had swiveled around, hand reaching for her gun, only to have "Carisi" deliver a right hook to her cheek. The inhuman strength behind the blow had knocked her out cold.

Reflexively, Rollins tried to palm her face. It brought to bear her current physical predicament. Her hands were tied above her head, and when she looked up she found a rope dangling her down from a pipe on the ceiling. Panic overwhelmed the detective and she began pulling futilely against her restraints.

"Hey."

Amanda jerked her head towards the voice. A filthy bed with a metal headboard was pushed up against the opposite wall. In it lay a petite Asian woman, her long hair in disarray on the pillows. Blood had soaked the mattress underneath her, and the seeping slices on her body spoke to the source. Her clothing was in tatters, but the seasoned SVU detective noticed that while her breasts were exposed (and abused), her genitals were not. Small favors, she supposed.

"You okay?" the woman asked.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"This? This is nothing. Trust me."

Rollins shook her head. "Evangeline?"

Evangeline frowned. "And you are?"

"Detective Amanda Rollins. We've been looking for you."

"Well, looks like you won the prize."

The sardonic response was incongruent to the majority of victims Amanda had dealt with. "Aren't you scared?"

Evangeline gave a painful shrug, at least as much as she could do with her arms stretched as they were. "Sure, a little. And hurt. And _bored_. This fucker has no imagination."

Bewildered, Amanda could only repeat, "Imagination?"

"I've had worse." When the detective opened her mouth to ask about it, Evangeline promptly said, "Trust me. You don't want to know."

Unsettled, Amanda abandoned the query. "Do you know where he is?" she asked quietly.

No need for clarification; there was only one "he" the pair of them could be concerned about. "No." Evangeline shifted a bit on the bed. "If you know my name, you must have talked to… well…"

"The Winchesters," the detective supplied. "Yes."

"Oh. You know their real names." For the first time since they'd begun to talk, Evangeline's face softened. "Was there another guy with them? Dark hair, blue eyes? Trench coat?"

"Castiel?"

"He's there?"

Quietly, Amanda said, "He saved me."

Evangeline gave a little laugh. "He does that." She swallowed and Rollins could see the tears pricking the corners of the other woman's eyes. "Wish I could tell you him being there means this'll go faster. I've been praying at him for hours."

"He said something about you all being undetectable."

"That, and this motherfucker has the place warded."

"Warded?"

"I'm not stupid," came Carisi's stolen voice. Both of the women's eyes snapped towards the shifter as he emerged from a dark corridor. "I've been around long enough to know who the Winchesters are and who they hang around with."

Repulsed, Rollins leaned back as the shapeshifter came towards her. "Hey, Amanda. How's it hangin'?"

"Go to hell."

"Sorry, sweetheart. Ain't where we end up."

The expression of undisguised lust twisted Carisi's features into a disturbing mask. "You women. Rejecting those closest to you to save your own _precious_ hearts. Even though you keep putting him off, this guy still keeps his hopes up. You know Sonny jacks off to you sometimes?" He licked his lips and closed his eyes. "Mmm… When you're bendin' over that desk o'yours—"

"He's lying," Evangeline snapped.

"Shut up!"

More convinced by the thing's denial than Evangeline's affirmation, Rollins let go of her disgust. She had no delusions where the male members of the NYPD were concerned; a lot of them looked, but none of them pushed, and if Carisi entertained a thought or two he respected her too much to disturb their current relationship. The thing was trying to goad her, and she'd be damned if she'd let that happen, inhuman or not.

Amanda settled for silence, and when a few more obscene comments failed to produce a response the creature resorted to violence. His knuckles cracked across her cheek, breaking the skin and causing her vision to go momentarily black. Through the roar in her ears the detective could vaguely make out the sound of Evangeline's laughing derision and the shapeshifter's angry reply. By the time Rollins' vision cleared, the thing was straddling Eva's hips and pointing a knife at her chin. "Go on!" it screamed. "Mock me again!"

Rather than be cowed, Evangeline craned her head up and snarled, "Eat me, you piece of shit. You've had me hours and can't get it up. You can't even get it up for the blonde with the nice tits. You're just a stupid, limp son of a bitch."

After throwing the knife into a far corner the shapeshifter wrenched Evangeline's head to one side and whispered something in her ear. Revulsion and apprehension clouded the woman's face for a moment before her bravado returned. The monster sat upright and smirked.

Then, to Amanda's horror, Evangeline gave it a smirk of her own. With two little words, the woman veritably sealed her fate.

"Prove it."

* * *

The victim had been young. Castiel wished the coroner hadn't already done her examination; he might have been able to bring her back. Then again, he might not. His powers waxed and waned of late, particularly after the other angels had been cast from Heaven. Whatever he contained needed to be saved to rescue Evangeline.

Castiel turned the girl's hand over. He bent down, drawing the limb to his nose, but was arrested by a shocked, "Hey!" Melinda Warner shoved him upright by his shoulder. "Have some respect."

"There is no one inside this body," the angel explained tersely. "The soul has fled."

"That doesn't give you the right—"

"Melinda," Benson said quietly. "Just let him be. I promise I'll explain later."

The doctor hesitated for a moment before stepping away. Castiel completed his interrupted investigation and sniffed the woman's hand. "Chili powder."

"What?" asked the confused lieutenant.

"Chili powder," he repeated. "Galangal. Lemongrass. Garlic. Basil."

"She ordered Thai?" Dr. Warner asked, incredulous. "How is that important?"

The angel gently put the girl's hand down onto the table. "No. There are minuscule remnants of these things in her skin. She was held at a place where these spices are used so often they permeate the air."

"I didn't find any Thai food in her stomach."

"I did not say she _ate it_. I said that the area she was kept in was suffused with it."

"Are you sure it wasn't from the garbage we found her in?" the lieutenant queried.

"No. She has been washed clean of most of the filth. To have settled so deeply she would have had to been exposed to it for a prolonged period."

"That actually might narrow down our search. Thank you."

Castiel nodded and turned towards the door, but when Benson made to follow the doctor pulled on her sleeve. "Now hold on—"

"We don't have time for this," the angel growled, frustrated by all these humans' tendency to constantly _question_. If Amanda Rollins was now missing, then she was with the shapeshifter, and he knew his Evangeline all too well. Whatever horrors the monster might want to inflict on the unknowing detective, the hunter would redirect upon herself. They needed to find both women _now_.

Swiftly, Castiel reached out with two fingers and tapped Warner on the forehead. She collapsed, much to the surprise of the lieutenant. "What did you do?" Benson cried as she knelt down to check on the coroner.

"She is sleeping. And I will not wait for you much longer."

With great effort, Olivia made herself stand. Carisi had pulled her aside right before they'd left the squad room with the doubtful supposition that this celestial being might care deeply for the missing woman. Even though his mannerisms were strange, if not outright rude, the seasoned detective could recognize the signs of a loved one in distress. "All right," she said calmly. "Just let me make her comfortable and we will go."

"Fine."

"You could help."

Despite all religious presumptions of celestial patience the angel rolled his eyes. They carried Melinda to her office and the couch she kept within. "She will wake in a few hours," Castiel explained stiffly before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

Exasperated, Benson lifted her eyes up to the Heavens. As she hurried after the quickly disappearing trench coat, the lieutenant asked the Almighty why in the world He'd sent _this_ particular angel to prove to her that they were real?

Next time He needed to send someone who was, at the very least, _polite_.


End file.
